


What I need

by evil_bunny_king



Series: lay me down to rest [1]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I Am Sorry, Major Character Injury, Mission Gone Wrong, Post-Turning, Protective Nate, THAT CHOICE, and you are WELCOME, oh man, the inevitable choice, turning, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25059565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evil_bunny_king/pseuds/evil_bunny_king
Summary: The first hellhound finds her with her back braced against a tree trunk and her pistol in her hands.
Relationships: Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell, Female Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell
Series: lay me down to rest [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815415
Comments: 26
Kudos: 88





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ejunkiet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/gifts).



> All the thanks go to the ejunkiet for the wonderful beta-reading and scheming and BANNER. She has also written a lovely side story (next in the series!)
> 
> Written for the amazing achalantspitfire's 'protective Nate' prompt on tumblr <3
> 
> Also, please, listen to 'All I need' by Desiree Dawson.

Howls moan through the forest, not quite human but not animal either. The shredded voices break into snarls that she can hear over the panting of her breath as she staggers through the underbrush, heart in her mouth and gun in her hand. There are other footsteps, pounding through the trees; more broken voices, rising in song. Her heartbeat thunders in her chest, thumping through the adrenaline as she forces her way back onto a path.

The trail stretches out to either side through the mulch and the roots of the thickening trees. She has a choice: left or right, but the sun’s fallen low, shadows striping the tree trunks. She can’t remember which direction she’d left her car. She doesn’t know where the rest of Unit Bravo is. She’s only half-certain where the town is - to the right, maybe, with the setting sun - but she’s been turned around so thoroughly in this forest that it might as well be up, for all she knows.

They’d only had a few minutes warning before the pack had descended on the ghost town they’d been investigating - an uncharacteristic call from Sanja, speaking fast and frantic about the pulse of time and spontaneous choices and a life for a life, detective, be careful, move _fast_ -

And now Dinah's lost in the wilderness, run down by fairytale monsters.

She bends over her aching sides, forcing herself to breathe, to _think._ She’s scared. She’s scared more than she’s been since- since she’d woken up strapped to a table, and that’s funny, because after so long hunting (and being hunted) she’d thought maybe she’d get used to it, by now.

But as she swallows, tightening her shaking grip on her gun, there’s the same kind of flavour, the edge in her teeth. The rib-shaking thrill and quake.

Crashing bracken behind her. A snarl from the east, flattening into a growl.

_Run, Dinah. Run._

She chooses west and plunges into the undergrowth once more.

Nettles whip at her hips as she forges herself a path. Bindweed tangles her feet, dragging at her with its long tendrils and triumphant, raised trumpets and she cries out as a foxhole catches her ankle, sending her sprawling into the damp underbrush. It’s enough to tip off the pack. Howls rise again around her, and her heart trips against her ribs, full and beating with terrified life. But Dinah Batra will not go down so easy - she _will not_ _go down without a fight_.

The first hellhound finds her with her back braced against a tree trunk and her pistol in her hands.

She fires, once, twice, and a bullet finds its rolling, lidless eye. The third sinks into the thick of its shoulder, sending its twitching, rotten body sprawling - but another hound leaps over it, slavering jaws wide.

She kicks it back and it bites into her boot, serrated teeth slicing easily through leather and rubber and skin.

A scream rips itself out of her throat. She slams her free foot into its snarl, its too many eyes, but it only tightens its grip, growling and tugging her forcibly after it. The breath punches out of her as she’s dragged across the forest floor, head slammed back into the dirt. She feels her bones move- and the agony has her screaming again.

She’s managed to keep hold of the gun, she eventually realises, through the daze of pain. She can feel the familiar grip in her hand, her finger finding the trigger and she bends herself around to fire, aiming at the beast just as it releases her to lunge again. The fourth and fifth shots split the forest, aimed too high, but one still manages to clip the ridge of its back.

It squeals and twists mid-leap, rolling to the side in a flail of limbs. She takes the moment to scramble backwards, a sound she doesn’t recognise wrenching from her as the movement jolts the mangled mess of her foot. _Be strong, Dinah_ , she whispers to herself, imagining her mother's voice. _Be strong and be present, because you won't get time to flinch-_

The beast whines as it regathers itself, testing the stretch of its too-long limbs. It's bleeding from the bullet, its ragged hide soaking to black beneath the blood, but still it swings its heavy head after her. She freezes as its scattering of eyes locks on her once more, reversed pupils flexing around its bloodied snout (sulfur in grey smoke). Its hackles rise. She can see its rows and rows of teeth, slicked with its blood and hers, as the off-beat growl starts again.

She raises her gun and holds it with both hands in an attempt to steady it. She should have one bullet left, if she’s counted correctly. She prays by all the gods she doesn’t believe in that she has.

The sagging fur ripples as it tenses-

And then there’s a shout, a tumble of movement, and the beast is flung through the air, crashing against a nearby tree. 

The beasts that careen into the clearing after it skid to a halt, spitting out snarls.

And Nate is there, off-kilter and panting. Nate is _here_. He crouches over her, dirt-streaked and bloodied with his jacket torn to shreds, and the force of her relief slams into her like a breaking wave.

“Nate,” she whispers, or she tries to, but her breath is tight and small in her chest. Her leg- her leg _aches_.

A flicker of movement as one of the beasts lunges, and she sees the lines of Nate’s back shift as he darts to meet it, ramming into its side. It rolls into the bracken, yelping and growling, and she hears the hiss of air between Nate’s teeth as he staggers to regain his balance, wrapping his right arm around his side. There are healing gashes wrapped across his ribs, tearing up towards his neck. He’s panting, body heaving with each breath - and she feels afraid again, she feels it like a hand on her throat, squeezing.

“Nate-”

A snarl and the other beast leaps. Its jaws snap closed as Nate kicks it back, sending it sprawling into the underbrush. There’s a look of concentration, controlled pain on his features as he squares off against the growling beast - and he doesn’t see, he doesn’t see the other one shake itself upright behind him, flexing its shoulders as it sets its sights on his turned back.

She raises her gun once more and the movement catches its attention. It twists, its many eyes fixing on her, baring its disjointed teeth.

She puts her final bullet through the back of its head as it leaps at her throat.

The forest shudders at the gunshot. She’s thrown back as the body crashes into her, the weight of it forcing an intake of breath, a grinding brilliance of pain, and there's warmth spreading across her chest as the hot body falls still. She blinks, blood in her eyes, and lets the empty gun fall from her fingers. Somehow, she’s looking up at the sky. There are sparks in her vision, like inverse fireflies, darting in and out of view.

She turns her head until she can see Nate.

He has his arms locked around the final beast, forcing its snout to its chest and pulling, twisting. There’s a _crack_ as its head turns too far - and then the beast falls silent, limp and Nate releases it, curling his right arm back towards his ribs and stumbling a step back. The beast slumps heavily into the dirt. Nate stands over it, almost as still.

After a moment he seems to remember himself, shaking his head and stirring back into motion. He looks around, wide-eyed and staggered, until his gaze finds her.

“Dinah,” he manages, the word almost lost in his exhale.

She’s not sure she’s ever seen him look at her like this before.

There's a blur of movement and then he’s on his knees before her, heaving the body from her chest. She gasps as it jolts her, pain shivering and vision blurring, and his hand finds her cheek briefly, comfortingly, before falling to the mangled mess of her leg. She hears the burst of his exhale as he looks over it, fingers tracing the air above the boot. He rears back to shrug out of his shredded jacket before pulling off another layer, a shirt. She blinks as he rips it apart, as easily as breathing.

He twists his head to take a breath, short and sharp, and she realises that he’s been holding his breath. And then he wraps a strip of his shirt around her calf and all sensible thought leaves her.

“I’m sorry,” she thinks she hears him whisper. There’s a touch of fingertips to her cheek, to the tears that have crossed there, and then the tourniquet tightens and the world whites out in a flash of indescribable pain.

An eternity passes, maybe two. She feels his hands running through her hair, smoothing at her brow. She’s lying in his lap, she thinks. There’s the smell of old leaves. She tastes grit in her mouth, blood. Her lip has split, a pinprick against the echo of her leg.

The throbbing has faded, a sense of absence replacing it, and she thinks, abstractly, that that should worry her. Nate’s speaking, she realises eventually, through the rush in her ears.

“...I’ve got you,” she hears. “Dinah, I’ve got you.”

She opens her eyes - she’s not sure when she’d closed them - and sees Nate bowed over her. They're somewhere else, a clearing amidst a copse of trees, and the light has changed as well, slipped closer to evening. Nate's hair sticks to his brow and his cheeks as he frames her face with his hands. His thumbs smooth across her skin.

“There you are,” he murmurs, managing a lopsided smile. He blinks and she feels a teardrop land, soft, against her chin. He smudges it away and then strokes her hair again. He doesn’t stop touching her. She doesn't want him to stop touching her.

The forest - the forest seems far away. She feels the hardness of the ground, the dig of roots against her thighs and the light fails around them, settling in the shadows around his eyes.

This feels like a dream, she finds herself thinking.

There was a story she’d read once, when she was younger, in a history class she’d taken over a sun-drunk autumn. She remembers the chill of the basement classroom. The colour of the light slanted through the high windows, setting the dustmotes alight. She remembers tales from the old country - of night battles and the hunt, skinwalkers, collective memory. Fairy tales told and retold, back before the stories tripped out of the page to stalk her sleepy town.

She wonders... if he’s unreal, too. If he’s a whimsy made true, stepping warm-blooded and whole into her arms.

She hopes he's not. She wants him to be real. She needs him to be real.

His hand finds hers - warm and strong as he interlocks their fingers and her heart stirs with an exhausted thump. The scratches up his throat are only blemishes now, the bruises fading. He smooths her hair and holds her close and emotion swells against the stiffness of her ribs.

“We need to move now, Dinah,” she hears him say, and his hand in hers squeezes, and then lets go, her own drifting after his, bereft. “I’m sorry for this, _joonam_.”

"You've called me that before," she whispers, and he has. She hasn't asked what it means though, or the language it's in. Not yet.

He bends closer, surrounding her with the smell of him, the warmth, and places a soft kiss on her forehead. "My soul," he says, when he pulls away. His eyes crinkle with his smile, red rimmed and brilliant in the dying light. "You are my soul. Are you ready?"

She's not sure that she is. She's thinking about autumn - the evening light of his eyes, the warmth of sun-touched pages.

"Okay," she whispers, with her cracked voice, and she sees the small pull of his smile. He shifts from beneath her, carefully, but she still winces at the pain that shudders through her at the movement. Her heart flutters with it, like a bird in her chest. Her thoughts spin. He crouches beside her, pausing a moment to press another soft kiss to her forehead, before he slips his arms under her shoulders and knees, pulling them both upright.

The pain of it is instantaneous. It spears through her, burning and all consuming and she thinks she makes a sound as she shudders against his chest, hands knotting in his shirt. There’s, there’s agony, from the mess of her leg. The limb feels dull, weighted, burning, and she can’t- she can’t breathe- she can’t think-

She’s dimly aware of the steps he takes, unsteadily, across the clearing. The tree he slumps against, curled around her in his arms, bowing over her shivering form. He pulls her close with one arm, the other falling to the tourniquet, the mess of blood and bone beneath it and she shakes and shakes, fingers prickling, lip bitten to bruising.

“Dinah,” she hears him say. She feels him push the hair from her face, almost clumsily; the stir of warm breath against her forehead. The race of his heartbeat, under her ear. There are more words in a language she doesn’t recognise, low and broken before - “Ava,” he calls, his voice cracking. “Ava, Ava please; I can’t, I can’t-”

Silence settles, slow and thick over the forest. She feels him sink back to the ground. The jostle hardly hurts, this time; she’s floating, she thinks, lost in the warmth of him, the cage of his arms, the drum of his heart.

He tucks her close to his chest, and she feels the drip of tears against her cheek, slipping slowly to her chin.

“Dinah,” he whispers, she hears him whisper. “You have a choice. I want you to know that you have a choice.”

A short intake of breath, and then something warm, wet, is pressed against her mouth. A pulse, a rush, hot and metallic when she tries to move her lips to speak - but the words don’t form, her tongue like rubber, useless.

The heat moves away.

“I can save you,” he whispers, the hold of his fingers like brands against her side. He holds her so tight she thinks she’ll bruise, but by now she hardly feels it. “I can turn you. But you have to know what that means. You won’t be- you won’t be human anymore. You’ll be something else. Not good, not bad, just- _different_.”

He presses a kiss against her forehead, the words tumbling out of him. “You’re going into shock, _joonam_. And I can’t save you. We can’t save you, not like this. Not as you are.”

“You have a choice.”

He presses his wrist to her mouth once more, newly torn and bleeding.

“Please, make it.”

She opens her mouth and sunshine pours through, hot and pulsing.

She drinks.


	2. Interlude: blood

She remembers:

Wolves, not-wolves, too large and too broken and falling to pieces as they ran her down in the bush, all loose skin and sagging flesh - but their eyes, they still found her, shining in the failing light almost as much as their shark teeth-

And the howls- like shredded human voices, like cries of pain-

There was light - lightning - there was pain, the white hot flash of it (an echo tightens through her- a burn-) and teeth teeth teeth and her ankle and her chest and the blood in her mouth (her own) the blood (no, it wasn't, was it) on her chin and dripping to her chest, the blood (it was-)

(There is a warm wrist pressed to her mouth, warm fingers tipping her chin up, filling her mouth with something hot that spills from her lips as she coughs and she swallows and she recognises the taste of it, she thinks she knows what this is- 

There's the warmth of a thumb stroking her throat, gently, gently, until she swallows again; the curve of a palm and long fingers spread beneath her ear, holding, still so gently-

She barely feels her head being tipped carefully to the side. The brush of soft hair against her cheek, her jaw; the brush of lips and then a mouth and teeth, she knows they are teeth, twin pinpricks against the pulse in her neck but she doesn't really-

She doesn't really feel anything.)

(Not at first)

She wakes in the dark, her throat sore and hoarse (from the screaming, she realises; that, at least, she remembers)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little note to say I am working on the next part of this! I've also had this interlude kicking around for a little while on tumblr but not here, so, voila.
> 
> Keeping the chapter count closed for now, but yes. Watch this space. :)

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE, SCREAM WITH ME
> 
> And then go read the follow up <3 <3


End file.
